Hold On
by TinkerTailorSoldierDumbass
Summary: He craved attention and love just like any other human being. Just because he'd been experiencing the same pain for hundreds of years didn't mean that he knew any better. The only thing that he thought set him above normal people was the fact that he knew nothing was going to change. He was doomed to be lonely for all eternity.


**Privet loyal Comrades! Sorry I've not updated for a while, I want to say 'because it's nearly 2013' but it wasn't so I won't. This one may be a little bit angsty because of reasons, but I'll update The Deadliest Sin when I can write fluffy stuff :D **

**It's not a songfic but it's based on 'Hold On' by Michael Buble (I know, I didn't think I would like him either) and 'In My Arms' by Plumb. I have no idea, I guess I chose them because they are the only two songs which make me cry ;.; **

**If you wanna request a oneshot, just leave it in your review or send me a PM- make sure you state the pairing and/or subject matter. I do write yaoi lemon, but only yaoi :/**

**Anyways, enough of my ranting.**

**Hope you guys like it!**

**ONWARDS**

**~Theolin **

Happiness. What a waste of a life. So many people had spent their whole lives searching for joy, and had found nothing but darkness. So many people had yearned so hard for happiness, and had wasted their entire lives trying to find something that wasn't real. Their longing, their eternal longing for happiness and love almost sickened him. Didn't they know that life was nothing but pain and sadness? Didn't they understand that life wasn't ever _meant _to be happy? Probably not, he thought. Humans seemed to be capable of anything when they were desperate for love. It was a ridiculous waste. All this fuss over something as intangible as love. It was almost laughable. It was pathetic, as well.

Anyway, it wasn't like he was any different. He craved attention and love just like any other human being. Just because he'd been experiencing the same pain for hundreds of years didn't mean that he knew any better. The only thing that he thought set him above normal people was the fact that he knew nothing was going to change. He was doomed to be lonely for all eternity, or at least until the country he'd worked so hard to construct fell. He wondered if he would eventually just fade away and die, or if he would be crushed by a more powerful country like Russia or America.

Oh, America. The only country he'd ever really wanted to be close to. He'd had to make friends with other countries after his isolation and he had, but he'd never felt an urge to actually become close to them. No-one, except from America. After the revolution he'd felt so defeated, he'd felt like there was no reason to carry on. Only the persistence of his government and the false hope that maybe they would become friends again kept him alive throughout the 19th Century. It was only really the mid-20th Century when he realised that he may still have a chance. And a chance he had. He and America now argued bitterly (with or without the input of France) throughout every world conference they attended and sometimes even went out for a drink afterwards. Just as friends, of course, it was just a moral obligation they both had to fulfil.

But being friends wasn't good enough for him. He'd brought up America when he was younger, had taught him everything he'd known. It was the only time in history when he'd actually felt like a father, when he'd felt a deep connection towards another country. But, as most things do, his love burnt out. They began to fight more and more, drifting further apart with every argument they had. Eventually, he had just given up and let America go. Maybe it was for the best. His love was only going to be rejected; America didn't like him in the same way.

He had tried to ignore his yearning for the younger country, but it just kept coming back. His dreams were filled with lewd scenarios concerning himself and America, of obscene visions of fantasy in which one would do inexplicable things to the other. He always woke up in a considerable array of distress and longing when he realised that his dreams were only fictional. Well, those dreams were the closest he was ever going to get to getting in bed with America, so he'd best hang on to them.

He was currently huddled up on the sofa, holding a mug of tea in his hand. Neither the tea nor the tartan blanket wrapped around his shoulders was warming him up very much; the cold had seeped down into his bones a long time ago. The only things that would keep him warm were the arms of a certain country, but he knew that that was impossible. The rain was lashing against the windows furiously like it had been doing for the past week, meaning that he had been housebound for over four days. He knew he should be used to the terrible weather now, but the rain still got on his nerves.

Would anyone visit him today? Hah, probably not. His boss was on a trip to somewhere, he really didn't care where, and he knew that most of the other countries were spending time with their friends in the run up to Christmas. So he would be alone for Christmas once again. Not like he cared, he could look after himself.

That was a lie, and he knew it.

The numerous scars on his arms spoke of the truth. He'd tried to stop, but he just got so angry at himself. It was his fault that he had drifted so far away from people he cared about, no-one else's. He'd stopped eating very much as well, his scones and fish and chips just reminded him of the times he'd tried to convince… _him…_ to eat them. So he just ate a slice of dry bread whenever he felt like he needed energy, and numerous cups of coffee. He'd also stopped drinking as much tea, because coffee gave him more energy so he wouldn't just end up sleeping all day.

He put his tea down on the coffee table in front of him, and lay down on his side, pulling the blanket around himself. He hugged himself tightly as he began to drift off…

Several hours later, he rose, simply because he didn't want to feel useless. He meandered around the living room for a while, picking up dirty clothes and putting them in a pile on the sofa. He didn't feel like eating anything yet, even though he could feel the emptiness in his stomach. The emptiness in his chest overrode his hunger for food however, so his need physical sustenance was ignored.

He stretched, feeling his back click, and sighed. He couldn't be bothered to change his clothes; it wasn't like he was going to have to look presentable for anyone. His hair was a mess, not exactly tangled, but still considerably more rumpled than he traditionally allowed it to be. He sat down on the sofa, feeling slightly dizzy, huddling up again as he began to shiver.

He was about to drift off when a familiar voice sounded from outside. "Arthur? Artie? Your boss wanted me to bring some papers round or something!"

The pain flared up in his chest again as the words registered in his brain. What should he do? Alfred was bound to realise something was wrong; he would probably tell his boss or force him to explain himself. He couldn't tell Alfred how he felt about him; the agony of being rejected would be unbearable. But, then again, it was his only chance of being able to speak with him. Even if it was only idle chit-chat, it would lighten his spirits again and maybe would 'cure' him for a few weeks, until he had forgotten what his voice sounded like again.

Even though most of his mind was screaming at him to ignore Alfred and hide, he decided to answer. "Coming." He called, wincing as his voice came out weak and feeble.

He stood up, trying not to wobble, and shuffled out of the room and over to the door, flattening down his hair as he went. He reached for the doorknob with shaking fingers, his mind devoid of things to say. He opened the door and fixed a smile onto his face. "Alfred!" He said, with as much mock surprise as he could muster. "What are you doing here?"

Yes. What was he doing here? Alfred hated him, didn't he? Why would he ever want to visit Arthur? He just hoped that Alfred wouldn't notice that anything was wrong.

Alfred grinned back at him, brandishing a folder. His hair was soaked with rain, the water poured in rivers off his face and trademark brown bomber jacket. "My boss sent some stuff to your boss and he sent me to come and give it to you. He said it would be nice if we spent some time together again, apparently you've not been out for some time."

Arthur let out a bitter noise of amusement. How blind Alfred was to not notice that something was wrong. It wasn't like he was seeking attention or anything, but he had at least expected Alfred to care. He'd never even thought that Alfred may not actually give a shit about him. Maybe he was just as cold hearted and cruel as all the other people he'd loved in the past. "Fine." He reached out to grab the documents but the American moved his hand so he couldn't get them.

"Why don't you invite me in? It's been ages since we last spoke about something that wasn't work related." Alfred chuckled. "It's almost like you don't like me Artie."

Arthur winced at the nickname and almost swore at his remark. "F-fine." He stuttered, his ears turning red in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Why couldn't Alfred just leave him alone? "Come in then."

He turned around and walked back into the living room, hearing Alfred clomp in behind him. The younger man was never very graceful with his movements, he just tended to swing his limbs around in a vague imitation of walking until he either reached his destination or hit something. He sat down, stuffing the dirty clothes behind the sofa. Alfred came and sat next to him, a little closer than he deemed necessary. Damn. Why did the American have to tease him like this? Arthur was trying so hard not to just give in and confess to him, it was a Herculean task he was determined to achieve.

"So, how've you been?" Alfred leaned back against the cushions, taking off his glasses and cleaning them. He'd always had this annoying habit of seemingly expanding until he took over the entirety of the sofa, meaning that Arthur was confined to a tiny patch at the end.

"Alright, I suppose." He lied, hunching up his shoulders and staring at the carpet. Without making a big fuss over it and praying that Alfred wasn't paying much attention to his actions, he rolled down his sleeves to obscure the scars on his forearms.

Alfred leaned closer to him, not close enough unfortunately. "Arthur. I know I'm bad with people, but I know you're lying."

Arthur shrank from him, his gaunt eyes widening in shock. "W-w-what are you talking about? I'm fine, honestly." What was he meant to do? If he told Alfred the truth, he would have lost him forever.

Alfred's eyes were a clear, innocent blue as he stared with concern at Arthur. "Why can't you tell me what's wrong?"

He couldn't lie to this beautiful voice. He just couldn't. But he had to. "Nothing's wrong Alfred." He snapped, a little harsher than he'd expected. "Just go, and leave me to work."

As Arthur stood up, his sleeve slipped up slightly, showing the tip of one of the deeper scars. Alfred noticed, and his hand shot out to grab his wrist. In a slow and painful silence, Alfred rolled his sleeve further up. His face slackened and he looked somewhat unsure of what do to.

Eventually, he spoke. "Arthur…" his voice was soft and infused with concern. "Why…?"

"Why should you care?" Arthur said, trying to wrench his hand out of the American's grip. "It's not like you actually like me, is it?"

Alfred looked hurt, and he stood up as well, still keeping a tight hold on the Brit's wrist. "I do care Artie, why wouldn't you think I did?"

Arthur began to shake, his free hand covering his face. "S-shut up." He could feel himself beginning to cry but he fought against the urge, hoping that Alfred would not persist.

"Hey." Alfred whispered, moving so he was stood directly behind Arthur. Arthur tried to turn around but strong arms wrapped around his waist, preventing him from moving. The Brit swore in surprise and felt his face heat up again, rebelling against his regime of control. "Don't ignore me."

Arthur didn't know what to do. He wanted so badly to tell Alfred to go away and to just isolate himself again, but something else was telling him not to. Something was telling him to actually _tell_ Alfred how he felt, and just to suffer the consequences. "I…"

"What's the matter Arthur? Why can't you tell me?" His voice was a lot gentler than normal, almost like he was talking to a small child. It was calm and reassuring; it almost made Arthur forget about everything. Alfred's hands were resting on his stomach and warm tingles were running up and down his body, making him almost feel…happy. The crushing feeling in his chest had lessened considerably and his limbs were beginning to feel less icy. Damn. What if the bugger was only just trying to comfort him as a friend? Then he was screwed. Ah well, he was going to have to explain himself anyway.

Arthur twisted around in his hold so they were facing each other, and so that Alfred's hands were now on his lower back. "Alfred…" He murmured, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on empty space. "I'm so sorry." He kept his head down so that Alfred couldn't see the tears slipping silently down his cheeks.

"Why are you saying sorry? What is there to be sorry about?" Alfred's hands retracted from around his waist and moved up to trace along his jaw, tipping his head up so Arthur was looking at him. He frowned as he saw the Englishman's tears but didn't say anything, allowing Arthur to speak.

"I… I know it's wrong and I know you won't feel the same, but I can't stop myself." He trembled and bit his lip, trying not to let any more tears out. He was never normally like this; he was so overcome with emotions that it was impossible to prevent. The combination of self-hatred and longing was enough to make his heart feel like it was being pulled out; he wondered what it would feel like when Alfred finally denied his affections.

"Won't feel the same about what? Arthur, you need to tell me." Alfred sounded desperate now, he looked almost afraid when Arthur began to sob violently. He quickly asserted himself though, and pulled Arthur close. Arthur let out a quiet noise of surprise then buried his face in the American's shoulder, his arms hanging limp by his sides as he continued to cry.

"It's j-just, you're s-so p-p-perfect and…" Arthur choked out before gasping for air, his sobs turning into little sniffles. He breathed in the smell of burgers and shampoo which always seemed to follow Alfred around, trying to lose himself in the soft blanket of calm which wrapped around him. He didn't care if Alfred was only comforting him because they were friends, he just felt so safe.

"Perfect? Artie, you know I'm not perfect." Alfred rubbed his back in small circles, feeling the Brit's hands fist in his shirt.

"Y-yes you a-are. You're always s-strong and h-h-happy and b-beautiful." He'd not meant the last bit to slip out but he wasn't really thinking very much anymore, his mind was just fixed on Alfred.

"What was that? Beautiful?" Alfred almost laughed at Arthur's incapacity to keep his mouth shut, but he didn't in case it worsened the mood. He pulled back so he could look at Arthur properly. "What do you mean?"

Arthur had to try. He just had to. He didn't care anymore. His eyes slipped to half-mast and his hand slipped to the back of Alfred's neck, like he had done so many times in his dreams. "Stupid American." He muttered, leaning up so his nose brushed again Alfred's cheek. He hesitated for a second, about to pull back and claim it was a mistake.

He had no reason to do so when Alfred suddenly leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against Arthur's lips. His eyes widened and, after a brief moment of trying to work out what the hell was going on, kissed him back. His eyes slipped closed as his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Alfred's neck, winding through the smooth blonde locks and pulling him closer. His head was whirling around in dizzy circles and all of his common sense had disappeared, rendering him completely useless. Alfred was keeping the kiss light and gentle, and it was driving him crazy.

They broke away after a few moments, Arthur immediately turning bright red and looking away. Alfred snapped into action after a slight pause, guiding Arthur gently to the sofa and sitting down. Arthur didn't protest and let himself be pulled down onto the American's lap, still trying to process what had just happened in his mind. Alfred lay back against the arm of the sofa with Arthur on top of him, holding the older nation tightly to his chest. It was exactly what they used to do when Alfred had a nightmare, only Arthur would be the one holding him. Arthur would hold him all night if he had to, singing to him softly or telling him about the adventures he had in his pirate days. It was one of the things he missed about his younger days, when they were able to be around each other without constantly fighting.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked, his sobs reduced to quiet sniffles.

"Hm?" Alfred stroked his hair gently, trying his best to comfort him like the Brit had comforted him so many times before.

"W-why are you doing this?" He almost purred as he felt Alfred stroke his hair, it was one of the many kinks he had developed. His cheek was resting against the American's chest and he could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. Warmth was radiated from Alfred and he snuggled closer to him, not caring about anything now.

"Why? Um…"Alfred may have been awkward with people but that was nothing compared to his awkwardness with confessing his feelings for someone. But he had to. He'd seen how upset Arthur was, and he knew the reason for that. Arthur, he assumed, still blamed himself for the whole Independence thing and that he thought they weren't friends because of how much they argued. But there was something else. It didn't sound like Arthur was just upset about their friendship. Alfred felt something deeper for Arthur, almost like longing, but he wasn't sure whether Arthur felt the same. Oh well, it wasn't like he had much of a choice now. "Arthur, I love you."

Arthur froze, and lifted his head to stare at Alfred. "W-what?" He must have heard him wrong. Alfred couldn't have said that.

"You heard me." Alfred began to frown. Was Arthur only looking for comfort? Had he said the wrong thing? Oh God, he prayed that he hadn't crossed the line.

"Alfred I…" Arthur didn't know what to say. "I love you too…" He leaned forward and kissed Alfred, not wanting to say any more. Alfred kissed him back eagerly and opened his mouth against the kiss, feeling Arthur's tongue slide into his mouth. He tasted of his horrible scones and tea that he ate almost constantly, but it still intoxicated him, drawing him in and driving him crazy. The Brit let out a breathy moan as their tongues touched, his hands tangling in Alfred's hair once more.

Alfred was the first to break off, earning a disappointed growl from the Englishman above him. He sat up because his back was starting to hurt, but still kept Arthur trapped on his lap. "Let's not get too carried away." He chuckled. "We have a meeting tomorrow morning that my boss says we can't miss."

"Fuck the meeting." Arthur growled, knowing that he'd much rather fuck something else considerably closer and more interesting. He reached down and linked his fingers through Alfred's, kissing him gently again. It felt as if his chest was about to burst, so many emotions had been dredged up with Alfred's confession and he hadn't felt so happy for a long time.

"Arthur? Can I ask you something?"

"Yes? Anything." Arthur noticed that his sleeve was rolling up again and he pulled it down, still self-conscious about his scars.

"Why did you do that?" Alfred indicated his forearm, his other hand pushing the sleeve up again. He trailed his thumb over the longest scar, a pained expression on his face.

"I couldn't help it…" His voice went quieter and he hoped that he wasn't going to cry again. "I didn't know…"

"You didn't know what?"

"Everything you've said now…" He said, grimacing as he spoke. "…completely contradicted what I've thought about how you felt for so many years."

"What do you mean?" Alfred cupped Arthur's cheek in his hand, trying to reassure him.

"We always argue, we always fight and bicker. Since the end of the revolution, I always thought that you hated me." Arthur felt a solitary tear slip down his cheek and he prayed that none would follow.

"Why would I hate you? You were the one who looked after me when I was younger, you were the one who was always there for me."

"B-because" he started to sob again but continued to speak. "you wanted to b-be f-free, and I d-didn't want to l-let you g-go. A-alfred, I thought you d-didn't l-l-love me like I d-did. So, I d-did this to t-tell myself that I was u-useless."

"Oh Arthur." Alfred said, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him to his chest. "Why would you ever say something like that about yourself? And why would you think I didn't love you? I wanted to be independent because I wanted to explore the world for myself, not because I hated you. I don't know why you would think that I didn't like you, I know we argue a lot, but we've always been close, haven't we?"

"I-I'm so s-s-stupid." He wailed, his hands gripping the American's shoulders tightly. "I'm sorry…"

"Love means never having to say you're sorry." Alfred quoted, knowing that it was cheesy but thinking that it was effective. Arthur's sobs gradually turned into little gaps and hiccups as he began to calm down.

When Arthur finally stopped crying, he punched Alfred lightly on the arm. "That was a bit too cheesy, Alfred."

Alfred chuckled and hugged him tighter. "Whatever."

Arthur looked up at him, his tear stained face dusted with a light pink blush. "Thank you." He mumbled, kissing his cheek.

"You're welcome." He said, in his mock British accent he knew Arthur hated so much. "But…" He said in a more serious tone. "don't do anything like this again. I know we argue, and I know that sometimes we really do hate each other, but don't ever think that it's your fault. You're perfect, and beautiful, and don't you dare say you're not."

Arthur smiled and sniffled quietly. He lay his head against Alfred's chest and felt his heartbeat thud almost in sync with his own. Their hearts had been together since the beginning, and so they would remain until the end.

**Okay… that was crap :/ I had no idea what I was doing for half of it, I'm in a little bit of a daze at the moment.**

**Anyway, comment if you liked it and Happy New Year to you all!**


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